


lacuna

by loupettes



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27312289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loupettes/pseuds/loupettes
Summary: Perhaps, he hoped, they’d been getting so close these days that it might just be enough, that perhaps she wouldn’t resent him for turning her into him. He was abysmally selfish enough to hope she not be rightfully furious with him.Ten x Rose. Angst, Hurt/comfort. Rose finally learns of what happened to Nine.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	lacuna

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue prompt: "You could've called."

She wasn’t there.

He’d not long been pulled into consciousness, and he didn’t need to open his eyes to register that Rose was not lying besides him, as she most often was these days. Which was _very_ odd, because this was her room. He would almost always wake to a Rose still sleeping, in large part owed to his impoverished need for sleep in comparison to hers. He would wait until she woke up before he would leave, sometimes to make them a tea, but more often leaving her to roll over and go back to sleep. But even those odd mornings she woke before him, she would always wait for him to wake up too. He’d asked her why, one morning, when she ended up nudging him awake to tell him she was just nipping to the loo.

 _“Thanks for waking me up to tell me that,”_ he’d groaned sleepily into the pillow.

_“Didn’t want you to wake up and worry where I was.”_

_“Wonderful, I'll sleep soundly now.”_

Her bathroom door was open now. He sat upright, listening intently. Her mug from last night was beside the bed and he leaned over to discover it cold. Definitely strange, because the first time Rose did in the morning was make a fresh cup of tea, always in the same mug she’d used the night before. 

_“Why don’t you just get a fresh mug?”_

_“Dunno. S’cosy, like you’re still in bed with the same cup of tea.”_

_“Surely you don’t want to feel like you’re still in bed if you need to wake up?”_

_“Oh, well I don’t know then. Just, always have. Guess I’m in the habit of it now.”_

_“Weirdo,” h_ e’d smirked in response.

She might be strange, but she was consistently so. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, stretching his limbs that felt far too old these days before beginning his search. The TARDIS was _eerily_ quiet; normally he’d be able to hear her somehow. Not necessarily hear her rummaging around the biscuit tin or watching a film, but more so that he’d hear her in his mind, feel her aboard the ship. He instinctively headed for the kitchen; it was usually her first port of call in the morning. She wasn’t there either, so he had a look around for any clues to suggest she had been at some point that morning. No drops of water in the sink, milk still in the fridge - she had this awful habit of leaving it out on the side whenever she’d make tea. The kitchen was exactly as they’d left it last night, so he followed his feet to check the rest of the ship.

He was very aware of how much quicker he was to worry these days. Months ago, maybe even only weeks, Rose might go missing in the depths of the TARDIS and he’d only chuckle to himself at the thought of her trying to find her way out. Nowadays, his default response to losing - or rather, _misplacing_ Rose was fear. Nonsensical, in reality, because if there was anyone in this universe he trusted to safeguard Rose Tyler’s life almost as much as he himself, it was Rose Tyler. 

He peeked his head around various rooms and inspected them, all to no avail. The media room, the library, the observatory were all deadly still. 

“Rose?”

Nothing. She _must_ be on this ship, he assured himself. She wouldn’t have simply chucked herself into the vortex; she _was_ here. But he knew it, he could feel it in every corner, every thought, every heartbeat, that she wouldn’t be here for long. She was going to be pried from him, he knew that much, and if the universe and his past treatment of her was in any way indicative of his fate then it was going to be sooner than he’d want it to be. Sooner than he could possibly survive through.

He’d been less than half an hour without her and he felt heavy; like the silence that surrounded him was suffocating, compressing his bones. He just wanted to _find_ her, to have her nearby, just as he always did these days when he was without her. Which, as it turns out, aside from their travels, was almost never. He’d abandoned his feeble attempts at distracting himself during Rose’s downtime when she needed her sleep or to be alone not long after she’d first been warned of her prophecy. Her downtime was now _their_ downtime, her time to sleep was now a time shared with him. It had gotten to the point of need, an unbearable physical ache when he couldn’t _feel_ her, and he sensed she felt exactly the same way. She would ask what _they’d_ want to do in her downtime, and she’d take _his_ hand when she turned in for the night. She’d search for him in her sleep and seek hold of his hand almost as often as he’d fiddle idly with her fingers and motion for her to be closer to him. Which made now, a moment without her and unable to find her, that bit more lonely and unfamiliar. Even _foreboding_. 

_Stop it_ , he told himself. There really was no need to panic. He called out to her once more, although this time his voice was strained, apparently unable to adhere to his own command. 

“In here!” she called out. His hearts loosened, and when he released his breath it was a much fuller one, one he’d been withholding its release. 

The wardrobe. Of course. _She was in the bloody wardrobe, you idiot_ , he thought. In hindsight, Rose in the wardrobe was not entirely unforeseeable. 

“Might’ve known,” he muttered as he entered.

She was sitting on the bottom step of the spiral staircase and, he was disheartened to discover, was holding a familiar black leather jacket. He was however relieved, to find that she was not or had not been crying. But, nevertheless, she wasn’t exactly gleeful, which in itself was enough to render the Doctor fated to resolve. 

“How long have you been here?” he asked softly.

“Oh, I dunno. An hour, maybe?” she smiled, before narrowing her eyes to study him. “You alright?”

“Yeah. yeah. I’m alright.” She raised her eyebrow in that quintessential Tyler manner of seeing straight through him. He rolled his eyes. “I woke up and you weren’t there. I was starting to get worried when I couldn’t find you.” 

She giggled, shaking her head at his sheepish admission. “What’d you do that for? Where would I have gone? You wally.” 

He shrugged awkwardly, then nodded, scratching the back of his neck. “Oh, I don’t know.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “You know me, I’m a worrier.”

“You are notoriously _not_ a worrier. You plough into things headfirst and you leave all brain sense and logic behind.”

“An accurate response, granted.”

He sat down on the floor next to her legs, crossing his own. She smiled softly, reaching out to scratch his hair and he closed his eyes to her touch. “I worry about you.”

“Since when?”

“Since _always_!” he defended, poking her thigh. “Well, if I wasn’t before, certainly now since you bloody jinxed us with “ _they keep on trying to split us up but they never ever will_.”

She scoffed, ruffling his hair. “Who’s splitting us up on the TARDIS?”

“I don’t know, but somebody’s got it in for me,” he muttered.

Her hand softened in its movement, and he glanced up at her. She was looking back at him so sadly, curiously. “Why do you think that?”

He didn't know what to say. He seemed to only know how to scare her these days, and he knew he was doing a very good job of it at that. He didn't think that her clinging to his hand at night or her constant need for his touch was without reason. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter now anyway. Found you in the end. You could’ve at least called, you know,” he mocked, and she rolled her eyes. “At least told me where you were going. If you can wake me up to tell me you’re going to the loo, then you can wake me up to tell me you’re hosting your own catwalk.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his worrying over her. It ached, though, in her heart. Knowing that one day he wouldn’t be able to find her. She began tracing the creases of his leather jacket with her fingers. “I didn’t really want to.”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

Her other hand was beginning to still in his hair, although he could still detect the quiver of her nerves. He reached up to steady it, before bringing it down to brush the backs of her fingers gently against his lips. She watched as he did so, tilting her head and seemingly lost in her thoughts. “I still don’t know what happened.”

He looked down at his old jacket and felt his blood saturate with dread. “And by that, you mean…”

“I feel like there’s a big chunk of my memory missing. Kind of like when you blackout drinking and you can't remember if you did something awful or not.”

“Did you go back through your texts?”

She chuckled, tapping the side of her forehead with her index finger. “Nah. Past-Rose is clever, she deletes them in advance to save Future-Rose of embarrassment.”

She really was beautiful, he thought. Her cheeks spotted a delightful pink, her eyes darker as she looked at him fondly, lips curled upwards in the aftereffects of her smile. Her hair was messy; she kept tucking one side behind her ear and her skin glowed under the soft golden light of their surroundings. But her face began to drop, and his brow furrowed in regret as it did. He could see her, blaming herself as she always did. And for that, he felt grossly culpable.

“I dunno. It’s all jumbled up in my mind. Little bits of what you tell me, some snippets of memory and I _know_ you’re being purposefully deceptive.” She wagged her finger at him, and he held his hands up defensively. “So I just thought, maybe I could figure it out if I came here. Might remember a bit more if I saw his clothes or somethin’. I dunno.”

He sighed. He’d wanted to put this off for as long as he possibly could, and he always knew that one day she’d ask him to be honest and he’d be powerless to deny her of her request. “Why do you want to remember? It was so long ago now, does it really matter?”

“Well, yeah. Course it does. Like I say: drunk Rose - I have a feeling something terrible happened and you bein’ too avoidant to prove me wrong really freaks me out more. Last thing I remember, like, properly remember: I’m at the Powell Estate trying to break into the TARDIS. I see this bright light, next thing I’m back on the TARDIS, Jack’s not there and you’re blowing up.”

“Sounds like a robust story from start to finish, what makes you think there’s a bit you’re missing in the middle?”

Her smile was only courteous. “Please, Doctor. Please tell me what happened. What happened to me? What happened to _him_?”

The sound of his predecessor in _her_ voice, the way she spoke his name was a hardship unlike any other. She loved him, he knew that by now. He didn’t need her to speak the words, because he could feel it emanating from her, translated into everything she did, and he’d long since learned that her grief over losing his former self was not to say she didn't equally adore this current him. But it was remorseful, watching her try to solve a mystery that to her was imperative to her healing. He finally did place that hesitant kiss on her fingers. “Well. Tell me everything you’ve got. From start to finish, and we’ll go from there.”

“You promise me you’ll be honest?”

“As honest as I can be.”

She tilted her head, pleading for his sincerity. 

“No, you’re right. Honest, promise.”

She exhaled. “I remember breaking the main console open, and the _light-_ ” She winced at the memory and he squeezed her hand in an attempt to draw attention away from the pain of its recollection. She continued. “And I don’t know how I got there, I don’t even remember if I asked the TARDIS or if I just arrived. But I remember you. The old you. That’s the thing I remember the most - ” she nodded, validating her memory “ - but I remember…” 

Her brow was furrowed, eyes searching for a truth that seemed almost attainable. He dreaded these moments. Any mention of what happened on satellite 5 created this automatic reaction, a compulsive drive to steer the conversation away and protect her from the truth. But he always knew he’d have to tell her eventually, if nothing because it was so terribly unjust of him to keep a part of her memories from her, even if he felt like he was protecting her. Perhaps, he hoped, they’d been getting so close these days that it might just be enough, that perhaps she wouldn’t resent him for turning her into him. He was abysmally selfish enough to hope she not be rightfully furious with him.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I sort of remember wanting them all gone. And I know you said you got rid of them yourself by “ _singing_ ”- ”

“Which, to be fair, probably _would_ have driven them all to their deaths.”

Her shoulders dropped in ease and it was momentarily liberating to see at least some of the tension escape her. Yet her face portrayed her inner turmoil and he fought against his own to stay, to give her the truth she deserved.

“It wasn’t you, was it?”

His eyes dropped almost as fast as his hearts did. 

She squeezed his hand, although weakly. “That’s ok, I’ve figured it out by now,” she hesitated; he couldn’t look at her. “ _All_ of them?” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“It wasn’t your war,” he said, simply. In all honesty, it was the first thing that came to mind in his list of things he was so, _so_ sorry for to her. “But I brought you into it and I _never_ wanted that.”

“How did you?” He glanced up at her, then, and he was met with her eyes so filled with concern and perplexity. “I came back for you, that was my choice!”

“But it wasn’t your choice to- ” He stopped himself. Of course, it was her choice, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t unknowingly influenced in that decision. Rose had always had an unfaltering need to protect the ones she loved, and it was almost her biggest flaw that she would stop at nothing to fulfil it. But it was he who pushed her limits further, showed her just what could be done in the name of safeguarding. He committed genocide in order to protect the fate of the universe, and now so had she.

“Are you disappointed in me?”

“No, Rose. That’s not it. I know you couldn’t control it- ”

“So then it definitely _isn’t_ your fault.”

Perhaps another one of her flaws was her stubbornness whenever she’d found a loophole in logic that favoured her own version of events. He couldn’t help but smile, although it was all he could give her amidst the realisation that his own remorse for everything in his life was seeping into the one good thing he had left. He squeezed her hand, and she brought his knuckles to her lips. 

“It wasn’t just you, remember? I wasn’t coming back just for you. All of creation was at risk. Sorry to say.”

He slapped his hand to his chest, wincing in jest. She scoffed. They looked at each other. 

“But it still doesn’t explain why he had to regenerate.”

This time, he was unable to draw his gaze from her. He watched cautiously as she traced the veins on the back of his hands; he didn't think it coincidental that they glided so effortlessly in sync with their path.

“Did I kill you too?”

“No!” he said firmly. “ _Why_ would you think that?”

“I don’t know! I thought, y’know, I had all this power that I couldn’t control, and I knew I’d killed the Daleks… I just put two and two together.”

Knowing how this must have toyed with her, watching her now trying to get through this understanding made his need to ease her torment only strengthen. “Why, you got a hidden agenda? A secret vendetta against me all this time?” 

“I can’t believe you guessed it, been trying to get rid of you for nearly a year now.”

He laughed, as did she. “No. I promise, you didn't kill me.”

“I’ve been _so scared_ of asking you that.” She did look relieved, although not entirely, and he could see how she was still trying to piece it together. He held his breath in fearful anticipation of a moment so dreadfully epochal. “But see, now I can’t understand what happened? If it wasn’t me, then why _did_ you regenerate?”

There really was no way out. He closed his eyes and paused, savouring the last of this calm.

“Because it was killing you.”

It was barely a whisper; he hoped that if he said it quiet enough then perhaps it wouldn’t hurt her as much. The calm was preserved in her silence as she processed his words, her brow drawn together, before dread released it.

“No.”

“Listen, that wasn’t your fault, either- ”

“Because you _had_ to! Because of what I did!”

“No-“ she was shaking her arm to break loose, so he scrambled to his feet, leaping up two steps to sit behind her, legs either side of her.

“Hey,” he breathed as he leaned closer, putting his hands her shoulders and squeezing gently. Her head rolled to the side at his touch, although her anguish not yet subsided. He took the opportunity to plant soft trails of chaste kisses on her neck amidst her whimpers, ceasing only once he felt her pulse calm. She finally reached out to his hand when he did, leaning her head to rest comfortably against the inside of his knee. 

Her voice was strained and filled with distress when she spoke. “ _Why_ didn’t you ever tell me?” 

“You try explaining that to someone you care about.”

Here he sat; her physically leaning on him, being within reach of _her_ , and he was still able to avoid saying it. He would have mentally congratulated himself had it not been so dreadfully melancholic. 

“Yeah, I suppose “ _I had to die to save you cos you couldn’t just let it go_ ” is quite a hard thing to say out loud to someone.” 

He locked his arms around her, leaning in to nuzzle the crook of her neck. “I didn’t _have_ to do _anything_ , and if you hadn’t had “ _let it go_ ” then I’d have died anyway, along with the rest of civilisation, and probably the entire universe. So you kind of did all of us a solid favour.” 

She chuckled sadly. “Well, that’s something I guess.” She angled her head to kiss his forehead. “You really think you’d have died either way?” she whispered, regrettably yet hopeful. 

“Had my hand on the button and everything. Better to die saving you than at the hands of the bloody emperor of the Daleks.” 

“I’ll tell myself that. It’s better.” 

“Don’t have to tell yourself anything. I swear it, that’s the truth.”

“Ok, ok. I believe you,” she said through a smile, and he kissed her shoulder at the sound. “Well, now that I _know_ I’m the reason my best friend died, I have one more question to clear everything up,” she paused, the atmosphere darkening once more. “What happened to Jack?” 

_This was unending_. He groaned, hoping it to sound a little gentle but instead, it sounded discouraged. 

“ _Please_.” 

He searched for something to say, and in a way that wouldn’t add to her guilt. He feared that, at this point, her self-condemnation was on par with his own. 

“Did I kill him too?”

“No!” he affirmed. He felt her sigh in relief, as did he in response. His arms released her, hands skating up her skin to reach her hair. His fingers lost themselves in its depth, gently scratching her scalp until she finally hummed in response. 

“Is he alive?” she asked, even quieter, even more fearful of the answer. He was at an impasse; whatever answer he gives would further hurt her. Tell her he’s dead: she’d be heartbroken. Tell her he’s alive but they left him behind: she’d be furious. At least with the latter, she’d be getting the truth.

“He died, but you brought him back. The time vortex gave you the same power to bring life, too.” He felt her tense once more, and his own exhaustion over fighting her relentless anguish started to eat away at him, but he had yet to yield. “That’s something, hmm? You gave him life, you saved him. He’s alive now because of you.” 

“But, he didn’t come with us?” 

He paused. This was a bit much for her, especially at such time of the day; she struggled picking between cereals and withstanding coherent conversation in the mornings; trying to explain the anomaly of Jack to her might send her into madness. 

“I’ll be honest, Rose - whatever happened to Jack on that station made me want to just _flee,_ ” he said simply, but he knew there would be more questions. So he tried his best, against his better judgement, to continue. “I have a sense for time - I know when something’s not right. When an event’s about to happen that shouldn’t happen, that sort of stuff. I had that same feeling knowing Jack was somewhere on that ship.” She turned to look at him for the first time since he’d propped himself up behind her. “But I was also about to regenerate, and I didn't know how able I’d be to get you home and safe once I had. So I didn't even think, I just tried my best to get you home.” 

“But if Jack’s alive, where is he? What happened to him?” 

He pinched his forehead. “I honestly don’t know.” 

When he looked back at her she was... well, her look of despondency was to be expected, but it was nonetheless heartbreaking to witness in reality.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, relief washing through him when she at least attempted a small smile. 

“You really don’t know where he is? No sixth time-sense telling you he’s in 5127, sunning it up somewhere in Mauritius?”

He laughed. “I wish.” Telling her that whatever Jack had now become _terrified_ him would have only panicked her more. 

“I wish we’d run into him one day. I miss him.” 

He didn’t know why it had only occurred to him that Rose had lost two people she loved that day, but now, as he watched her chew her bottom lip sadly he felt so ashamed for only now telling her the truth. She turned her head back around and his inability to see her face made him instinctively reach out in search of her. 

He ran his fingers blindly along her jaw, feeling her skin tighten into a smile as he did. It encouraged his index fingers to chase it, running up the crease of her cheeks and to her nose. The pads of his fingers travelled north of its bridge to her brow bones, gliding back across to rest in the dip of her temples where he applied the slightest of pressure that resulted in a soft murmur to escape her lips. He hooked her hair behind her ears, sighed and gently kissed the top of her hair. 

If he allowed himself to be hopeful, the sigh she gave sounded with longing. “That was a nice face massage.” 

“Mmm. Don’t come cheap, either.” 

“Unfair of you to provide the service without disclosing the price in advance.” 

“Unfair, but not unwise.”

Her laugh was exquisite; he couldn’t comprehend what made it so. “What’s your price, then?” 

Dangerous question, he thought, for the both of them. It was undeniable that the moment was charged, but more than that in that is was _right._ It would be so effortless to ask her for a kiss, to ask her to accept his promise and allow him to love her. But he never wanted to ask her of anything, not when she was already giving him so much. 

“I think we might say I’m indebted to you. You are promising me forever, after all.” 

“You are giving me all of time and space, so let’s call it quits.” 

“Alright then, 20 quid for the massage.” 

She giggled, using his knees to hoist herself up before helping him to his feet too. But once he was standing, it took him a moment to realise she hadn’t let go of his hands and it took him double the length of time to find the courage to look at her. When his eyes found hers she was searching his. Deliberating. Her lips parted and her intake of breath was sharp. He felt her pulse thudding beneath his fingers and he became unable to control his own hearts beating tirelessly against his chest. A slight wave of panic ripped through him; he thought it only momentary but it was more than enough to discourage her of her intent. If he were any less cowardly, he would kiss her himself. But instead, he stood, unable to move, once more telling himself that the next time would be different. 

Thankfully, she took his hand instead, setting him back into motion and freeing him of his unrest as she always did. “Cmon. You promised breakfast was on you today, and I’m starving.” 

“I don’t remember saying anything about me paying.” 

She grinned, picking up the leather jacket. “It doesn’t feel right here, in this wardrobe.” She hugged it to her chest, attaching it to a hanger. “It lives in _my_ wardrobe from now on.”

“Well, at least that’s one thing that lives in your wardrobe, then.” He dodged her elbow in its attempt to nudge him, catching her hand before it had the chance to escape. 


End file.
